


116

by Stephen Greenwood (Stephen_Greenwood)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Movie: Fight The Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-19
Updated: 2009-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephen_Greenwood/pseuds/Stephen%20Greenwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shakespeare’s sonnets have nothing on you, Mulder, she thinks fondly, safe and warm against his solid frame, pressing her lips to his forehead in the middle of a dingy corridor painted a lacklustre beige with just a hint of melancholy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	116

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the second X-Files Porn Battle at LiveJournal in February 2009.

_Shakespeare’s sonnets have nothing on you, Mulder_ , she thinks fondly, safe and warm against his solid frame, pressing her lips to his forehead in the middle of a dingy corridor painted a lacklustre beige with just a hint of melancholy. His hands – so big they should be clumsy but instead have a surprising artist’s grace – frame her face; despite his age and his build, he looks like a little boy whose mommy disappeared from view in the store. She smiles under his scrutiny; it is the only way to keep the tears at bay, although she knows he would understand if they dare to fall.

Slowly, he lowers his face to hers, giving her time to adjust, to acknowledge the delicate balance of their partnership is going to change if she accepts his intentions; she tells him she is ready by tilting her chin upwards, parting her lips to receive his in earnest. And still he keeps approaching, iceberg-slow, and just when she can feel his warm breath tickle her philtrum, he seems to pause and hover over her like one of those damn spaceships he chases in the dark. _Comeoncomeoncomeon!_ she wants to scream, but then their lips are tentatively touching, the cold tip of his nose is pressing into her cheek and his tongue is drinking from her mouth like it’s an oasis in the desert. His fingertips, butterfly-light against her soft skin, leave a fiery trail from her neck to her hip, not so accidentally brushing her breast en route, sending a pleasant tingle coursing through her body.

Tangling her fingers in his hair, her nails graze his scalp as he lifts her and carries her back to his apartment in a lust-induced stumble, their mouths still making friends. He kicks the door shut before pressing her against it, his hands on her ass, hips holding her in place. His imprisoned erection rubs right where she needs it, the seam of her pants adding an extra layer of friction her clit lives for. And his tongue still wrestles with hers, tying cherry-stem knots before untangling and starting again. He’s Christopher Columbus, mapping out her molars like mountains, and she sinks her nails into his skin, trying to bring him closer, always closer.

“Mulder,” she moans in frustration as he breaks their kiss, his lips swollen, bee-stung.

“Quiet,” he growls, reaching for the zipper at her waist. “No more words.”

His fingers meander their way into her panties, through her curls, and, finding her more than ready for him, he sharply pushes two inside her, nipping at her neck even as his thumb strokes her aching clit. It’s too much for her mind to comprehend: Mulder, her partner, her friend, exhales falling into the crook of her neck while he finger-fucks her to oblivion and back with their clothes wrinkled but still on. Pressure builds inside her, the curl of his index and middle fingers too desirable to resist, the pull so strong, like the current in the rapids, and she fumbles with the button-up fly on his faded jeans because she needs to share this with him.

He pulls his wet digits out of her long enough to pool his jeans and boxers at his ankles; having let her go, she kicks off her shoes and pants, but he attacks her before other garments can make way. Roughly shoving her panties to one side, he guides himself inside her, filling her in one quick, hard thrust. She clings to him, calling out to her deity, and he grunts on every upstroke, the wooden door bravely withstanding each unrestrained slam of her back against its surface as he pounds into her uncontrollably, the animal part of his brain screaming fuck her!

Eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on the mounting pleasure between her thighs and the feel of Mulder inside and around her body, she rubs her clit harshly and that’s all she needs to fly, and it’s powerful and intense as her muscles contract around his cock, so, so tight, and he takes off, too, gliding on euphoria as he comes with her, loses himself in her, wants to bury himself inside her so deep he can never leave.

They slide to the floor in a sweaty heap of partially clothed limbs and sticky bodily fluids, panting heavily, staring at each other with newfound knowledge. Now there is time for tenderness, for roses and Shakespeare’s sonnets. But tomorrow she’ll carry the marks with her and know they were born out of pure, raw desire. From him to her. With love.


End file.
